A pile of stones beside a field
of an abandoned , washed out farm
now bramble and brier its only yield.
A near deer snorts out its alarm.

A barn in collapse across the way
the forgotten victim of neglect
that once was full of life and hay
now bats are all it can collect.

Old rusted worn out rakes and plows
good now for naught but scrap
once created pastures for fat cows
discarded like a vague mishap.

My children are drowning
in plastic
and I can't seem
to stem the tide
while they're hypnotised
by bullshit
I'm dying a little
inside

I'm networking
instead of
parenting

I'm raising automatons

My children are brainwashed
with apathy
made to look 'pretty'
told what to do
what to say
and I'm ashamed
a little bit more
everyday

I'm thinking
when I should be
listening

.
waxing rhapsodic
gilded actor of the quill
writing beautiful lies
just for the thrill

two joined, separated
a brother now one
and his brother's friend
a friend that loved
filled that emptiness
that hearth and home
could not mend
one fateful day
their ways crossed
to wayward wend

what tears run streaks
on your redded cheeks
why the furtive pulse
in your eyes it shows
so plain a plan
to bring him back
though a means to do
so sorely lack